


Two weaknesses make a strength

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, pure self-indulgent gooey hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Feuilly needs someone to lean on and Enjolras seems to be just the right pillar of strength.As they get closer Feuilly begins to understand that he's not the only one in need of some support.





	Two weaknesses make a strength

If Feuilly had to pin down when exactly all of this started, he would have chosen the moment he figured out he was bi.

While he was reasonably certain all the core members of the ABC would be just fine with it he desperately needed to hear it spoken out loud, to have it affirmed. He needed to formally come out to someone.

But who? His only options were the members of the ABC – he had no living family and no close friends outside the group. But who to single out? Because it had to be one person, standing up in front of the whole group or casually dropping it in a random conversation was out of the question.

After a long, agonising deliberation his choice fell on Enjolras, who, while not as openly invested in others’ personal lives as Courfeyrac gave off an air of steady trustworthiness and could be relied on not to pass on Feuilly’s confession, even by accident – exactly what Feuilly needed.

As it turned out he chose right – Enjolras listened to him with his usual serious solemnity. When Feuilly was done Enjolras fixed his intense, sincere gaze at him, squeezed his hand and thanked him for his bravery. That day Feuilly went home lightheaded, grinning with relief.

After that something shifted in their relationship. Whenever Feuilly felt the heavy wings of loneliness close in around him, threatening to suffocate him he would seek out Enjolras. He would usually find an interesting political or historical topic, sidle up to Enjolras and bring it up in conversation. Enjolras jumped on the opportunity with great gusto and these conversations often stretched late into the night.

Before long, Feuilly found himself straight up spilling his guts to Enjolras. Almost without his conscious permission all his secrets and fears started to bleed into their discussions.

The day his creeping fear of wide open spaces came tumbling out he knew he was in too deep. For a horrible moment he was scared Enjolras would back away, tell him to keep these things to himself, but he never did. He listened, solemn and sincere as always, pulled Feuilly into a tight embrace and thanked him for his trust in him.

The first time Feuilly stayed the night was about a week after this, on a Friday. He had an especially long and hard day at the end of an especially long and hard week and he just couldn’t bear to be alone. He wound up on Enjolras’ threshold without even thinking about what he was doing. He was ushered in with no fuss whatsoever – they spent the rest of the afternoon watching a documentary about the Ukrainian Black Army, curled up on Enjolras’ couch.

After that they fell into a routine: every Friday afternoon Feuilly would come over with snacks, sometimes a bottle of wine and they would spend the night and Saturday morning together. Feuilly swore that the moment it started to look like he was imposing he would cut it out and back away, but Enjolras seemed to enjoy his company. He carried himself with more ease than he did at the meetings or even when hanging out with the rest of the group, and every now and then he even graced Feuilly with a genuine, happy smile.

There was something about that smile, warm and lovely as it was, that bothered Feuilly. It took him a long while to figure out what, but when he did, he had to fight the urge to bang his head against a wall, it was so obvious.

It was its absence. These nights were the only occasions Feuilly has ever seen Enjolras smile like that.

Since the first time they met Feuilly always assumed that Enjolras’ melancholy appearance was just that – the way his face looked by default. His too thin eyelids always made his eyes look red-rimmed and his emotions hard to read. Or maybe not even hard to read, just easy to overlook. Having seen Enjolras smiling and happy threw his usual behaviour into stark contrast. He wasn’t neutral – he was sad. His default emotion was sadness.

Now that Feuilly realised this he started to keep a closer eye on his friend. There was something stilted about him – unless he was talking politics, the only time he allowed his passion to flow freely. He seemed to hold himself under strict control – more than once Feuilly caught him tugging at his ponytail or rocking in his seat, only to immediately cease and freeze into a motionless statue when he realised he was being watched. Any time Feuilly asked him if something was wrong he was brushed off with a shrug and an ‘I’m fine’.

Enjolras also forgot to eat and he was working too much – much more than Feuilly originally thought. He was way too pale to be healthy, constantly zoned out, and even on their sacred Fridays Feuilly would hear him pace or type away on his laptop after he thought Feuilly was already asleep, often into the wee hours of the night.

And still, any and all attempts at trying to help were shot down with an ‘I’m fine’.

Things came to a head when one day Feuilly caught him in the middle of what looked very much like a panic attack in the bathroom of the Musain. He was leaning on one of the sinks, breath shallow and erratic, eyes wide and too bright. When he noticed Feuilly he shook himself, brushed past him and hurried away before Feuilly could even open his mouth.

This would not stand.

Feuilly didn’t try to confront him for the rest of the meeting, but he did follow him home. Once inside Enjolras’ flat be pushed his friend down onto the sofa and plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh.

‘Stop telling me you’re okay.’

Enjolras wouldn’t look at him.

‘Please’ Feuilly went on ‘I can tell something is eating away at you. You keep helping me, won’t you let me help you too?’

Enjolras crossed his arms and shrugged.

‘It’s not the same.’

‘How so?’

‘It’s… I’m fine. Nothing happened to me.’

Feuilly frowned.

‘You realise you don’t… Sometimes you will feel down with no reason at all, right? Let’s say one or both of my parents are alive. I still have the exact same problems: the nightmares, the panic, the agoraphobia, and I still choose to share them with you. Would you tell me to man up because nothing has happened to me?’

Enjolras looked positively scandalised.

‘Of course not!’

‘Well then. Why is me wanting to help you so different from you helping me?’

Enjolras shrugged again. His back was ramrod straight and so stiff it seemed like he would snap and break in half any moment now.

‘You are important. And good. Of course I want to make you happy, anyone would.’

Feuilly blinked. He felt a nasty, cold spike of unease stab at his belly, rapidly spreading upwards to grab his throat from the inside.

‘That’s not a difference. Not at all. You’re also important!’

Enjolras said nothing but he did let out a dry, mirthless chuckle.

‘Useful, maybe.’

‘I – WHAT? Useful? Useful?! What the hell? Is that what you think about us? About me? That we only keep you around because you are useful?’

‘Why else?’ Enjolras’ voice had a desperate edge, high-pitched and brittle. He crossed his arms even more tightly, it was beginning to look as if he was hugging himself. He took a deep breath, forced his voice back to almost-normal and went on.

‘I’m boring and weird. I’m no fun. I’m unfeeling, a statue. I don’t have a single lovable quality.’

Feuilly felt his belly freeze up. A horrible wave of nausea clawed its way up his throat. He was paralysed, caught between wanting to hug Enjolras and shake him and scream into his face, scream until he understood what utter bullshit he was talking. Thankfully the part of his brain that wasn’t completely clouded over with shock caught that latter impulse, knowing it would be counterproductive, to put it mildly. Instead he reached out and very carefully laid a hand on Enjolras’ back.

‘Please tell me you don’t actually believe that. You are a good person. You are charming and kind and interesting. You are so warm and loving – nobody in his right mind could ever call you unfeeling. Not after getting to know you!’

Enjolras’ breath was getting more and more ragged. He started to rock in his seat, caught himself and froze into a brittle, trembling statue. Feuilly scooted closer and gently slid an arm around his shoulders. When he was met with no resistance he tightened his hold a little and began to rock from side to side, pulling Enjolras with him.

Enjolras shuddered and broke. He slumped against Feuilly’s side. Feuilly carefully guided him down until his head was resting on his lap. Enjolras went without protest and hid his face against Feuilly’s thighs and fisted his trousers. His shoulder was shaking with sobs, he curled into a small, keening, miserable ball, desperately nuzzling into the embrace Feuilly offered.

They stayed like that for a long while, Feuilly rocking Enjolras as he sobbed his heart out in his arms. Feuilly pulled him close and rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb.

After what felt like an eternity Enjolras quieted down and lay limply in Feuilly’s lap, silent, utterly spent. Feuilly stroked his arm, as if trying to smooth out the tears and wears on his soul with his touch. When Enjolras spoke up his voice was hoarse but cautiously hopeful.

‘Are we friends?’

Feuilly squeezed his shoulder.

‘Of course we are friends.’

Enjolras was silent for a beat.

‘I know it, you know. In here’ he tapped his head ‘On the good days I can even believe it. Today was bad. Could you please… could you maybe say it again? Out loud?’

Feuilly swallowed against the lump in his throat.

‘We are friends. The others all think of you as their friend. They love you. I love you and you deserve it. You deserve to be loved. You are important. Not for the cause, not because you are useful. You matter to us. We love you.’

Enjolras turned in his arms and nuzzled his face into his belly. A sudden burst of warmth exploded inside Feuilly’s chest as his stomach tied itself into knots. He didn’t know how deep Enjolras’ pain went or what exactly caused it, but he hoped that with this first crack the walls he pulled around himself would eventually crumble and he would allow Feuilly to help him. That with time he would heal. Feuilly bent down and pressed a small kiss to Enjolras’ temple.

‘We love you so much!’

**Author's Note:**

> Made this a Modern AU because I have a theory that while Enjolras has his problems in canon era too his strong sense of purpose and his ability to completely pour himslef into the Cause help mask them so he never falls apart like this.


End file.
